She's my sister
by Pascalyne
Summary: Dean has so much difficulties accepting what his brother confessed. His behaviour is erratic, he knows it but he is not ready to admit that it is because he has difficulties to accept his own feelings. They've reached a city, apparently under the spell of demons. As Dean is about to close the door to the hotel room, he sees Richie exiting the opposite room with a beautiful woman.


"She's my sister"

1

"She's my sister" said Richie, eyes going from Dean to the tall blond in short pink vinyl dress. Dean said ok with a grin and lust in his eyes that even Richie could have picked up on. The conversation cut short and Dean simply shut the door.

"You see, HE fucks his sister!".

Dean turned around to face Sam right there, maybe a step behind him, wearing a smile so full of sense and sarcasm that it made Dean back up a step or two. He would have backed up more, his back had not met the door somewhat painfully. This made Sam laugh, he went and sat on the bed further away from the door and kept watching Dean, trying to catch his eyes as much as possible. He was not going to let this opportunity go. Dean threw his duffle bag on the kinky red shredded velvet cover of the queen size bed closer to the door. He looked around the hotel room while trying to make a sentence out of his messed-up thoughts.

The room was dark. Dark brown walls, deep red fixtures, low intensity lights… It represented perfectly the city of sin it was in. The bathroom door was open. He thought for a moment of going there, lock the door, take a shower and simply ignore Sam's comment. Yes, it was the best solution after all… Less than a year to live, he did not need to deal with that!

Dean did not even hear himself say "R'you done with that already?!". He sort of picked up the conversation when Sam replied. He was by the bathroom door and Sam had finally managed to catch his eyes.

"Dean, I'm sorry if you cannot deal with it, but I needed to say it! I needed you to know how I felt before…"

"Before what?" He shouted, "Before we disgust everyone we know? Before we become what we hunt? Before what, Sam, huh? Tell me, before what?" His anger spilling out of his mouth, his eyes, every fiber of him. A blind wrath just rushing out that he could not stop even if he wanted to. Dean was now standing in the middle of the room, straight, fists tighten so much so that his two hands turned white. "How could you even say that, hell, think that!?", he looked Sam in the eyes, and turned his head violently.

Sam realized in what state Dean put himself and it saddened him. It also frightened him, not because Dean could beat him, but because he would beat himself down until the end with knowing the truth. He did not want that for his brother.

But then again, Dean was the one that had decided to leave him alone with all these feelings. These feelings he had had for so long now. These feelings that would never let him rest, that he did not know how to handle. What with the comfort of his forbidden dreams and the sheer hatred of himself when he would wake up.

Sam was now standing, halfway between the bed and Dean. His jaw clutched so tight that his lips were creamy white. When he finally opened them, he was surprised by the physical relief as much as the anger of the words he let out.

"Before you leave me alone Dean! Before you just abandon and leave me the fuck alone! You fucking jerk just made me come back from the dead and won't even let me try to help you! And you will leave me all alone to deal with this fucking life and these fucking feelings I can't get rid of!? Because yeah, I know I shouldn't… I've spent half my life getting away from you and burying them away. And you come back, and you wake them up, and you save me and now you fucking abandon me?! So yeah, I told you, coz' it's not fair that I deal with that alone, you'll fucking have to share that with me, Dean… at least until you abandon me! You fucking asshole are abandoning me!"

Sam's vision was blurry, he was not looking at Dean, he was not looking at anything actually, just letting all the pain poor from his mouth.

He did not see Dean coming at him, fist up. The elder brother caught Sam's collar with his right hand and sent his left fist right on his jaw. Sam lost his balance upon the strong blow. Before he could recover and stabilize, Dean had lifted him by the collar he was still holding and thrown an uppercut. This time releasing the collar. Sam fell backward onto the bed. He collapsed and blurrily saw Dean coming at him with his fist up. The giant raised up on his left elbow and tried to raise his right arm over his face as an ultimate protection.

The pain seemed less than what it should be. Sam had hardly recovered some senses when he understood the last punch had never happened. Instead, he felt his brother's tong pushing forcefully onto his bloody lips to try and find an entrance to his mouth.

Dean's body was heavily planted on Sam, every inch of their limbs somewhat interlocked and kept that way by Dean's flexed and shivering muscles. Sam did not understand what was happening at first, but he let Dean in. The kiss was neither sweet nor sexy, it was needy. Teeth crashing into each other, tongs fighting, lips strongly sealed, rancid saliva mixing with the taste of blood coming from Sam's busted lip. Sometimes the lips would part, for a second, just the time for a breath of air to come in and a tong to come out and lick the commissure of the mouth or suck on the closest lip.

Dean slightly let go of his grip on Sam 's body. The latest seized the opportunity to release his arms from underneath his brother and grab the back of his jacket, trying desperately to pull him even further toward himself.

Dean grabbed Sam's hair and pulled his brother's head to the right, giving him full access to his neck. His tong went up and down, from the base of the ear to the top of the collar bone. It was aggressive and wet. Sam moaned, it made Dean bite him.

Suddenly Dean got up on his knees, on each side of Sam's leg, grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him over without the faintest try to be gentle. Sam brought his knees back under his butt cheeks and raised on his elbows.

Dean reached under him to unbutton his jeans, pulled forcefully. He stopped for a moment when his hand brushed against is brother's fully erect sex. He started thrusting the shaft up and down, slowly, gently, his breath seemed to calm down a little, and follow the rhythm of his hand.

"Dean, God, it feels…"

"Shut up Sammy", Dean whispered. The tone was soft and delicate. The gesture however, reverted back to being rough. He pulled out his hand from underneath Sam and pulled his jeans down, underwear along with.

Sam suddenly realized he was ass up and naked, in front of his brother. This made him harder. he heard Dean unzip, and push his pants down, this made him even harder.

Without warning, Dean put a finger in his butthole, which had Sam grunt with discomfort. Hearing his brother wail faintly, Dean removed his finger. For a second Sam thought he had lost him as he could feel Dean slowly move away from him. But the elder surprised him with a strong hip movement, sinking into him, grunting behind him. Sam groaned at both the bliss and the pain as Dean entered him with only his precum as lubricant. He could not help but thinking that his assailant was in pain too. He let wander his mind to the fact that the pain was never an issue in his deluded dreams of both of them together. But then again, in his dreams there was tenderness too.

Sam came back to reality, to feel the pain of Dean's dick far into him - he got called back to reality, is a better explanation – by the increase of speed at which his brother penetrated him. His hands on the kid's hips, he was pushing stronger, faster, madder into his little brother. And he came.

Dean fell onto Sam, lifeless. He let his right hand wander into his brother's hair for a short moment, before realizing where he was and what he was doing. He removed himself from inside Sam and got up swiftly. Only then did he notice that none of them had even removed their clothe, but only pushed out of the way the items that needed to be.

He pulled his jeans back, the boxers rolling back with, in a really uncomfortable manner, grabbed his bag and locked himself in the bathroom; leaving Sam on the bed, still bare ass, not moving.

What had he done!? Forearms against the wall of the bathtub, his head on the knot that were forming his two hands the one on top of the other. Dean could feel every drop of steaming hot water falling on him from the limescale shower head, right above him. But when the water reached his cheek bone, then there was no way to differentiate it from the tears. What the fuck had he done!? He tried to retrace the course of action. How he felt compel to kiss his brother, how he could not stop his body from physically want him. How he felt bad when he understood he hurt his brother with his finger, tried to back up, but only felt the lust invade him again as he looked up the ceiling and saw the whole scene from the mirrors covering the beds area. Fucking wicked hotel! Dean felt a grin forming on his face, quickly erased by the thought he had just fucked his little brother and more scarily, he had enjoyed every bit of it.

Somehow, Dean had managed to quiet down. He got as much dressed as possible, so as to not tease Sam but also not make him feel bad about himself. All he could think of was that everything was his fault. Everything is always his fault. The world will definitely be better without him. And he, better away from this world. He pulled his t-shirt over his sweatpants and opened the bathroom door. Sam was under the covers. He was wearing a t-shirt too and kept trying to catch Dean's eyes. Dean was not having it. Not now. Not tonight. He looked everywhere but at Sam. That is how he noticed the white wet traces on the red velvet cover: Sam had come, right there. Was it during or after he was fucking him? Dean stopped his thoughts, tried to focus on something else. He quickly climbed into bed, shut the light and turned his back on Sam.

"Dean, …"

"Not now, Sammy!" semi shouted Dean.

Sam, sunk into his bed, turned around and shut his eyes. Every inch of his body aching, some more physically than others. But his heart was definitely the most painful.

Maybe an hour into trying to fall asleep, Sam heard Dean move. He felt his cover open and his brother's body slithering against his. The clothe rolled a little and he could feel Dean's navel touching the bottom of his back.

Dean positioned his right arm around his little brother's shoulder, reaching for his hand. He found it and interlocked all ten fingers before releasing all pressure on his body.

Sam wanted to say so much, he did not dare to. He only let out a sigh of relief to which Dean responded by tightening his embrace slightly.

They fell asleep.

2

Sam was woken up by the door slamming. Dean was not in the room, and his duffle bag was closed and ready to go. Sam got up trying to simply not think about anything. But he could not help but check if Dean's bed was cold… it was, his brother had spent the whole night with him.

He hit the shower and was glad the water settings from Dean's shower were still on. The water was steaming hot and he tried to wash away the mixed feelings he had. No matter what he had imagined, never did it occur to him that giving into it would make him feel bad, and sad. He did not understand why Dean actually gave in. If there was one thing he had always been sure of is how he understood his brother's reactions. Not anymore apparently.

He got dressed and opened the door of the bathroom on Dean about to knock.

"Ah, finally! Don't tell me it's your make up that takes that long" said Dean a bright smile on his face. It made Sam feel lighter.

"Pack up your bag, we're leaving."

"But what about what's happening here?"

"Richie can deal with it, Helen told me about a ghost two states over, I told her we're taking it."

"I'll get the car."

"And, Sam… Clean that before you go, will ya!" Said Dean, nodding carelessly at the stained velvet cover on Sam's bed.

Sam's heart sunk. He took the cover to the bathroom and kneed by the tub, turned on the water, grabbed the soap and started scrubbing. His hands quickly turned red by the mix of bad quality fabric, water and soap.

He felt a tear falling down his cheek, chose to ignore it.

"I'm sorry man!" Dean was standing by the door, holding the frame so not to come closer. Sam turned around and Dean saw the tear hanging at the bottom of his cheek ready to crash onto to edge of the tub. The older brother just turned around and hurried out of the room. His heart was bleeding but he was not ready to admit it.

"Ready when you are", he shouted from the threshold of the room, and slammed the door shut.

3

The car was speeding down the straight highway, surrounded by firs and bathed in a nice and warm early summer sun. The atmosphere in the car was oppressing, making an odd opposition to everything else outside. None of the brothers dared looking at each other. "Wanted dead or alive" by Bon Jovi was playing quietly. Dean turned the volume up and started singing along, looking at Sam, a bright and inviting smile on his face. Sam did not flinch whatsoever, eyes lost on the lack of horizon playing on the side of the road. His big brother turned off the music and turned his brooding face back on.

Another two hours passed until Dean drove the car on the side of the road, into a small rest stop made of dry dirt and offering the most beautiful view over a dark blue lake surrounded by trees and colored wooden lake houses. He sprang out of the car as if it was on fire. Sam followed him despite not wanting to.

"I'm sorry, Sammy! I really am… But I don't know…" he took a breath, looked at the stunning picture-perfect landscape in front of him, without really seeing it. "I don't know why I did what I did, I don't know how to react… and…", deep gulp of breath again, "…and you seem so sure it's not fucking wicked!". While speaking, Dean suddenly felt very aware of the heated weather.

"I'm sure of nothing Dean", Sam replied standing tall in front of his brother. "I just know last night felt right, and you can't say otherwise. Falling asleep in your arms, I felt better than I felt in years… Hell than I ever felt! Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't feel the same!". Sam was defiant. Exactly what Dean needed to get back on track. He looked his brother straight in the eyes: "I didn't." He was lying of course but he would take that to the grave. He would not have to wait for long anyhow. And now he was cold.

"Let's forget everything that happened, it's best that way," Dean said walking back to the car. Sam knew he was right. He got back into the car, looked at his brother who was picking a tape out of a dusty box he took from under his sit. He put the tape in the radio cassette, turned the key in the contact and looked back at his brother. "Wha'd'ya say, Sammy?", with the same bright smile he had earlier.

"Ok," said Sam showing his best smile. Dean, was probably right, all that shit was destroying him inside. He had a silent laugh when thinking the one thing he wanted the most was the one thing that made him hate it all.

"So, what's the intel?" Sam asked looking at the piece of paper Dean handed him. "A strange death in the Upper-class district of Belmont, Montana. A guy impaled himself on a rake… in his bathroom."

"Yeah, ok. How do we know it's a ghost? It could be a demon."

"Apparently, the guy's house has a history. Old orphanage closed after some strange death in the 50s."

"Ok. How long 'til we get there?", Sam yawned.

"'bout 3 hours. It's ok lil' baby, you can sleep, I've got good company," Dean said hilarious, while putting the sound up to Led Zeppelin Immigrant song. Eyes on the road, mind wandering. Faking the "it's all ok attitude" was much easier than he thought it would be. Maybe they would be alright after all.

Sam woke to Dean slamming the door of the impala. The twilight was winning over daylight and Dean had apparently decided to stop for the night. The no vacancy sign of the motel lit on as Dean left the reception. Sam understood by the name of the motel – The Belmont view – that they had arrived, although not in the Upper-class area. This motel was definitely more in their kind of area.

"Come on!", Dean shouted from the other side of the full parking lot. Sam Joined his brother in a few of his giant steps.

"There's a dive down the street with a pool table. Wha'd'ya say we hustle our way to some chicken and pie?".

They quickly dropped their bags on the round table on the right-hand side of the entrance door of the room. Further on the right was an old tacky kitchenette. On the other side of the room, the two queen size beds were separated by two bedside tables and blocking the access to the window. The brown covers were catching the eye and perjuring with the clear tea green color of the walls. And who in the hell thinks cheap flowery china is a nice wall décor? Sam's nose twitched when he saw the room, this made Dean laugh.

The bar was indeed a dive. The low intensity lighting and dark sticky furniture did not ease the boys to the stench of spilled out rancid beer and burnt frying oil. Dean was glowing.

They used the well-known and yet highly effective technic of the drunken bet to win a rapid pool game. Too rapid for Dean, who was, as secretly as possible admiring his brother's technic. Him, he had the talk and could easily win a game over the kind of assholes they were playing tonight, but Sam… well Sam he was an artist with the hustle!

The asshole was upset and started threatening Sam, fists up, his friends surrounding him. Dean jumped out of the chair he was sitting in and grabbed the guy's arm, pushed it over his own head and kicked his calf so he would fall over. One of the friends tried to grab Dean but Sam just threw the pool queue in his legs, he fell right on top of the other. The third guy ran out quickly.

"C'mon Lil' bro, let's have a beer now,"

"A beer, the braised chicken and your best pie, sweetheart," Dean smiled lustfully at the cute brunette taking their order. He then nodded at Sam who was still deciding on what he would eat.

Faking an exaggerated irritation at Sam's hesitation, Dean just said: "And that'll be a healthy super green salad with a side of nothing for marathon man here."

"Dean!" replied Sam smiling.

This felt good.

While Sam was still perusing through the menu, His brother looked at the waitress walking away. Her jean skirt hardly covering her rear. "Dude!" said Dean nodding in her direction.

"Really?" replied Sam, surprised that he actually was relieved to see Dean getting back to his old ways.

"Oh sorry, I forgot you prefer dicks!"

"That's not funny, Dean, and that's not true either!"

"Oh, c'mon Sammy, that's a little funny!"

"Jerk!"

"Bitch!"

They both started laughing. A real, genuine laugh they deeply enjoyed. The rest of the evening was pleasantly quiet and normal. They were both secretly thankful for the lack of drama.

Back in the room, Dean said he would go to the morgue the day after to collect information on the dead guy and asked Sam to drop by the house interrogate the widow. They had their work cut out for them in the morning, had a good evening, were also beat by the long road. It was time to turn in.

Sam turned off the lights, with a last glance at Dean already sunk deep in his bed, head turned away.

He was nearly asleep when he felt his cover rising and his brother slowly getting into his bed. Dean lied along Sam, his arm over his waist. Tapping on the bed, trying to catch something. Sam slowly moved his hand from the side of his head to his waist. Met Dean's hand and locked with it. Dean responded by pulling the two locked hands toward Sam's belly. Both sighed in contempt and fell deeply asleep.

4

Dean woke up in Sam's bed. He felt rested. Rested like he never had before. A sheer bliss in the heart, somehow disturbed by a deep feeling of disgust trying to make its way up.

Sam was putting his jacket on, ready to head out. He looked at Dean and roared a simple "Hey".

"Sammy, I'm sorry… I… I needed it!" The last part came out sharp as a knife. It physically hurt him to admit it. And in the same time, he was relieved.

"Dean…"

"No let me finish, I need to say it," Dean said, sitting on the bed. "I need… fuck…" he cleared his throat and looked around the room for a bit, he then realized Sam was standing there, looking at him, patient. He looked him in the eyes, and it gave him the strength he needed. "I need you… I need you that way. I think I've wanted you for a fucking long time too but never admitted it to myself. I can hardly admit it now…" The disgust feeling he was trying to refrain came out flying, it made him wince uglily. "Hell, I can't actually admit it! But I need you Sammy and I'm so, so… so sorry I'm messing you up."

"What ever I can take, Dean." Sam smiled showing a deep feeling of tenderness. Dean took it all in, it made the disgust sink way back in.

Sam said he was going to the house and would be back to the motel at twelve. Dean went to the morgue and worked his way to the deceased file, to find absolutely nothing.

"Hello" said the tiny woman, all dressed in black and with white hair pulled back in an old fashion bun. "How may I help you?".

Sam introduced himself as the local church grief counselor. It gave him a pass in very quickly.

The elder lady offered a tea which Sam politely refused. He said a few well thought words to trigger a flow response. It worked perfectly well as the widow spoke about everything odd that happened to them over the last five years they had been the owners of the house.

She explained all the strange feelings, the objects changing places, the bruises on her and her husband when they would wake up in the morning. Sam asked if he could look around the house. She strongly refused and escorted him out.

Back to the motel, Sam found Dean seated at the table, quickly and with a guilty look closing the laptop. Sam dropped the bag of grocery he did on the way, on the table, and started emptying it, while asking how the trip to the morgue went. "A big pile of steaming nothing, man!" Sam handed Dean a still hot apple pie.

"Well, I might have something. The widow was nice and welcoming until I asked to look around. I think she's hiding something, and we should go look around the house tonight. You're up for it?"

But Dean was not listening.

"Oh Sammy!" he said, "I'd fuck you right here and now just for that pie!" Sam froze. He looked at his big brother and stopped breathing when he saw overwhelming lust on Dean's face. Dean got up, gently put the pie on the kitchen counter, and grabbed Sam's hand, slowly pulling his brother toward him, until their two chests met. Sam finally released a sigh, feeling Dean's hands grabbing his waist. Within a split second, they were kissing. The kiss Sam had waited and hoped for so long. Sweet, tender, deep. The tongs were playing gently in Sam's mouth. Dean's hands moved from his hips to his back, grabbing his shoulder blades, the left hand moving forward to his hair, stroking them slowly, to finish on his cheek, caressing it with so much care that Sam could feel his brother's feelings through every stroke of every finger.

Dean gently pushed Sam toward the table, lifted him up about a half inch so that he could sit. He pushed on Sam's chest to make him lay on the table, colliding their two waists, making their dicks touch through their jeans. They were both already hard. Dean removed Sam's jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, his hand moving gently over every bit of Sam's uncovered belly. Sam took the tease hard, quivering and getting even harder at each button off. He removed his unbuttoned shirt and looked at his big brother pull his swollen sex out of his unzipped jeans; and take him in the mouth. It was wet, and somehow peaceful. Dean removed the dick from his mouth slowly, reluctantly, rose up and unzipped his jeans to let out his even more swollen sex. He stroked it. Sam could not help but notice that his brother was definitely not gentle with himself. He grabbed Dean by the waist with his legs and pulled him closer to himself. He could now reach his hand and stop him from hurting himself. Dean reacted by lifting Sam's legs up and pulling out his jeans throwing them away, away went the boxer too, same way, different direction. He pulled the legs apart forcing his brother into a semi split and plunged headfirst into the awaiting butthole.

Sam moaned at every stroke of tong on his hole, found himself exulting a sharp groan when his brother's tong penetrated him. Dean pulled away, looked his brother in the eyes with such a sorry expression on the face it made Sam actually sad.

"I'm sorry Sammy, I think I'll come before I can take you without hurting you!" "It's ok, Dean," he replied while reaching at the grocery bag on the table. He pulled out a tube of lubricant and handed it to Dean.

Dean pulled away a few steps looking expressionless at the lubricant in his hand. This must have lasted a few seconds at most. It seemed like forever to Sam. Dean finally caught up to reality, looked at Sam with this disgust face he tried to hide earlier. He threw the tube against the wall while screaming through his teeth:

"We're fucking disgusting whores!". He pulled up his trousers and left Sam bare back on the table.

Sam looked at the door slammed close, then at his jeans on the floor and the lubricant against the skirting board.

"Shit, I'm a fucking asshole…" he got up, grabbed his jeans and boxer and locked himself in the bathroom to get dressed.

5

Dean came back late after dark, sent a text from the car.

_Let's go check house now_

Sam grabbed his jacket and left the motel room slamming the door behind him. He joined Dean in the car still running. Not a word. Sam grinded at the expectation of the half hour ride in total silence.

The house was up a desert street surrounded by its own private wood, the closest house was about 1000 yards away. The whole area seemed nice, big houses, some with swimming pools, all with acres of land.

Dean turned off the lights before the last turn; parked the car behind a tree and turned off the engine. Sam opened the door ready to go out.

"Sam, wait." Sam was not sure he actually wanted to hear anything Dean had to say. "I'm sorry… It's just I'm not used… and I'll need time, I mean obviously you've had practice and I feel bad that I'm making it hard but I don't know how I feel about all this, you know…" Dean looked at Sam expecting an answer Sam could not give him, so he decided to say the truth instead.

"I haven't had practice Dean, I'm as lost as you are, I just accept it. We've got so little time together don't you think it's time we just let go of all the "act tough" crap?"

"But I thought… with the… tube and all?" "Yeah, well… you hurt me when we… you know…" Sam stopped, grabbed his brother's hand as Dean started to understand what he was saying.

"Shit," said Dean, head buried in the stirring wheel, "Sammy, I…". "Let's go." said Sam, decided to change topic fast. Dean nodded and exited the car.

They took all necessary equipment from the boot and headed toward the house. Dean found a window in the back that was the perfect entry spot. He worked the lock in a matter of seconds, and both entered the house through what seemed to be a cellar.

They quietly but swiftly made their way through the ground floor and did not notice anything interesting.

Dean climbed the stairs to the first floor of the house to discover about fifteen doors all shut. He sighed in despair. When Sam joined him, he showed the same reaction.

"Old orphanage" Dean whispered a giant smirk on his face. "You take the left" still whispering and headed down the corridor apparently trying to pick a room by instinct. Sam followed, methodologically opening each door, entering slowly and checking around the room, pointing the EMF reader in every direction. He noticed most of them where empty. It brought his attention to the spider webs everywhere, the busted scarce furniture. The ground floor richly decorated seemed like a well-lit selling window compared to this. Dean came behind him whispering that the search was a bust. They exited the same way they came in. Crossed the garden toward the car. Dean took a last look and turned around; gun clenched to his shoulder. "Sam!" he called.

Sam turned around to see an odd figure standing a few meters from them. A tall, frail man, pale and expressionless face, was looking their direction. He was dressed in white shirt and dark trousers. The whole image seemed out of place. The tall frame made a few very slow steps toward them before moving as if in rapid motion, making a cringe-worthy noise. Dean fired his gun directly in the chest which disintegrated in a cloud of disincarnated smoke. "Holy crap it's the gardener," said Dean smiling. "Did you notice the window on the first floor?" Sam asked. "Yeah, I did".

They decided to leave for now. Do some more research on the house, the ghost and the widow apparently.

Back to the motel, Dean went in the bathroom while Sam started to do some research on his laptop. "Maybe it's a coincidence," he shouted so Dean could hear him through the bathroom door. The door opened on Dean standing in his boxers, toothbrush in the hand: "Yeah, 'coz we see a lot of that in what we do!", he shut the door. After a few minutes the shower started running. Sam was now looking through archive documents on the site of the district.

Dean got out of the bathroom wearing only his boxers.

"So apparently the orphanage was shut down after the gardener got shot by the headmaster. In the garden by the tree where we saw him tonight".

"Where is he buried?", asked Dean climbing in his bed. "Not sure."

Sam closed his laptop, got up and removed his jeans before getting under the covers of his bed.

"Well, I'm beat too, we'll look into that tomorrow," Dean said turning off the light.

Sam was tired but he could not sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Dean in his boxers. His mind would create an elaborated scenario where he would take Dean's face in his hands and tell him that it would all be ok, that he should not be scared. Then he would kiss him and let his hands wander on the bare, perfectly tone torso of his older brother. Fantasy, nothing but fantasy.

He heard Dean get out of bed, his heart skipped a beat. He heard the fridge door open and Dean loudly drink from a bottle. He chuckled, of course it was not what he thought. He closed his eyes and tried to find sleep again.

Sam opened his eyes just as Dean got under the covers, carefully laying his body against his brother. He grabbed Sam shoulder and pulled it toward him so that Sam would lie on his back. They looked each other in the eye, lost track of time. Breaking eye contact, Dean turned around to grab something on the bedside table and put it in Sam's hand before crashing his lips onto his brother's lips, waiting for Sam to push his tong forward. Sam recognized the shape of the lubricant tube in his hand. He felt heat invade him, irradiating from the belly. He also felt the need to feel his brother even more. He gently forced his tong through his older brother's soft lips. Dean moaned.

They did not sleep much that night, but they slept tight.

6

The next morning, the brothers woke up in each other's arms. Dean swiftly got up and locked himself in the bathroom. Although it bothered Sam a little, he decided to not take it too badly. Dean had warned him that he would react the way he just did. Thinking honestly, he understood perfectly. His brother's strong reaction forced him to take the high road, but who is to say he would not have had the same reaction in different settings?

Once fed in the local diner, the two hunters headed to the district archives as Sam thought they would find more information on the house there.

"National archives administration," Dean said a big fake smile on his face. "We're here to…huh… inspect your archives!". He did not even remotely try to sound credible and yet the clerk, a tall, quite young blond boy, dressed like a Chad Michael Murray addict, gladly opened the door for them.

Sam was wondering how his brother could get away with it, all the time. He had gotten used to the lies and identity theft but if he wanted to make it believable, he had to elaborate plans and use outfits. Dean usually walked in and crapped out some sort of lame, half-baked explanation that got all the doors opened, no questions asked. In that very moment, he could not say if he was admirative or jealous of his brother.

"Why you're smiling?"

"No reason… did you find something?"

"Yeah, looks like the old widow actually was the daughter of the headmaster."

Sam's eyebrow raised, "So, she knew the gardener! But why was she at the window looking at us? do you think she controls the ghost or something?"

"Dunno." Dean grunted. "Ok so the gardener's name was Jim Cox and…" finger pushing the button of the scrolling mechanism, Dean squinted to read through the fine prints of the 70-year-old micro-chipped newspaper, "and he is buried in the local cemetery!".

Sam grabbed the door handle ready to leave. "Wait," said Dean, as he kept reading through the newspaper explanation that an affair between the gardener and the headmaster's daughter was the origin of the quarrel.

The brothers believed they had it more or less clear. The widow was protecting the ghost of her deceased lover. The only question remaining was, why tell Sam about all the ghost-like incidents?

Despite Dean wanting to salt and burn the body and move to the next case, Sam insisted they went back to the house as something did not sit right with him.

A few hours later, the car was sliding along the tree bordered road, rock oldies playing in the background, sun setting down quickly. Sam decided this was as good a moment as any.

"Dean, I saw your search history." No reaction.

"On my laptop." Nothing.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Not even a twitch.

"Look, I've been there too, ok. I thought about it at first, you know. I thought I was gay, I mean, it would've explained a little why I was falling for my brother." He stopped, hoping for a reaction, but nothing.

"Hell, I even tried, I went to some sort of gay country dive when we were working that rougarou in Austin"

"You… tried!?" Dean chuckled.

"Yeah, well, let me tell you… I'm not gay, man!" They both laughed heavily.

"Gay would have been all right, and so, so much easier!" Dean thought out loud. Sam smiled and nodded looking out the window.

"So, wait, you're tellin' me lil' Sammy tried to get his peace with a bearded dude over a Dolly Parton song?" Even more laughter.

"Asshole! No, I couldn't even make it to the hand touching, that's why, I'm telling you, not gay!"

Silence took over the car slowly. The music had stopped, and the brothers stealthily looked each other in the eyes.

"I don't think it's gay feelings, Dean. I think we're just as dysfunctional as everything around us, you know! Like, how we were raised, the things we do, I mean it's crazy, right?"

"And our relationship, man, we rely on each other for so much more than brotherly stuff. We need each other for so much already, why not for that? Thinking about it, the direction it takes is not that strange!"

"It's fucked-up, though."

"So are we, Dean!"

Dean pouted in acknowledgement.

The door of the house was open. This raised red flag, obviously, very usual in the two hunters' life. Dean softly pushed the door, gun held high in the hand.

Sam behind him, they ran through the ground floor of the house, found nothing. Reaching the first floor, they decided to split. Sam looked in every corner of the first room and was heading to the second room when Dean Called. The kind of call that had Sam drop everything to run help him.

He found the room in which Dean was, standing, stiff, hands up, apparently trying to talk his way out of some sort of "difficulty" that Sam could not see. He stealthily entered the room using darkness as a cover. A few steps to the left and the hunter could see what was holding Dean at gun point. It was the old widow. Her appearance was somewhat the same, but her eyes frightened Sam to his bones.

"You little assholes came into my house uninvited!" The voice was reedy, yet the ton was cold and oddly assertive. Sam slowly and quietly stepped forward gun raised in front of his face. Upon the last step he had to make to have the old lady in his fire line, the floor creaked lightly.

"Who's there? I'll kill you! I'll kill you all! You little fuckers!" And she fired in Sam's direction, missing him by more than 10 feet. But it gave Dean time to reach for his gun on the floor. He grabbed it with his right hand while his left hand pushed the floor and acted as a lever so he could contort and face the frail old woman. He shot her right in between the eyes.

The widow fell on the floor with a distinctive thump noise. "Sam, you OK?", said Dean getting up, gun still in the hand. Sam grunted while joining his brother near the body. The woman was oddly and uglily laying on the floor like a pile of old dusty rags.

"Dude, she was human," hissed Dean. "What the hell, man, we have to deal with humans now too!?"

Sam looked around the room through the faint light coming from the window and noticed a desk by the back wall, right behind the place where the dead woman was standing a moment ago. He walked to the desk and turned on the flashlight he had just retrieved from his jacket. He picked up a notebook buried under torn papers and some sort of psychotic scribblings. The notebook seemed to be a journal. Sam started perusing through it.

"So?" Dean's voice startled Sam. He turned around to see his brother amused by his reaction.

"Dude, she was a psycho! She pushed her husband into moving back in her old house, tried to make him think he was crazy and then killed him…", turning pages swiftly, "… And the one before that, same scenario… and the… fuck man, she was a crazy black widow. She was married five times, killed them all!"

"You think she killed the gardener too?"

Still turning pages: "Looks like it, yeah." Sam looked at Dean for a second, his brain obviously connecting the dots. "Dean, I think he wanted to warn us, the other night!"- "Poor bastard! Let's put him at peace."

Back in the car, the two boys rode to the cemetery in silence. This whole story shook them up more than they cared to admit. Monsters they knew, they understood, they killed. But humans?

Still in the relative silence of a grave desecration being committed, they salted and burned the remains of what now appeared to have been the first victim of a very human serial killer.

"You ok, Sammy?", Dean asked, looking at his brother holding a somewhat more brooding face than usual while they were crossing the cemetery back to the car.

"Yeah… it's just, …" he sighed loudly, "In 5 months, I'll have to deal with all that crap on my own, and it didn't cross my mind that meant humans too."

They had reached the car. "I really am sorry Sammy. But you'll manage, you know, right!? You know you're the strongest one!" Sam cleared his heavy throat. Dean grabbed him by the hand, pulled him over so they would find themselves face to face and pushed him gently against the boot of the car right behind him. "Com'ere" he said carefully pulling on Sam's hair - both hands on each side of his face – so as to have a tighter gentle grip on his head. He reached for his lips and kissed him passionately, thoroughly. Sam's tension disappeared almost instantly. It made Dean honestly happy.

"Let's head back," he said pulling out of his brother's embrace. They both got into the car in a blissed silence.

Everything was dark along the road. The lights of car would highlight glimmers every now and then, through the quiet and shadowy shapes of the trees.

Not saying anything, Dean pulled on the side of the road, turned off the contact and the lights, leaving them in the semi darkness of the faint glitters of the stars.

Sam looked at Dean surprised. His brother leaned toward him and grabbed both his hands, pulled him so that Sam could catch his waist. He then leaned back to rest his back against the door of the car, pulling Sam on top of him. Sam let him do at first but took charge when on top. He took Dean's face in his hand and kissed him. The kiss, at first gentle, became stronger when Sam realized he needed more of his brother; he needed him right now and there.

Dean let Sam do when he unzipped his jeans and pulled them out, not so gently. The Jeans flew to the back seat and Sam was working his way back to his lips, rolling up his t-shirt, licking and kissing. Dean's breathing became more and more shallow at each touch. Sam swiftly moved back to his brother's shivering thighs, took him entirely in the mouth. He played with his brother's dick like a dog with a bone, hungry, happy, free. Dean loudly sighed in contempt. He spread his legs open as much as possible to show his little brother he was ready for him. Sam felt his excitement growing fast and unzipped his jeans in search of a very welcome relief. A short relief. As he felt his brother gently stroking his head. There was love in the gesture. Sam felt it in his belly, and it made him want more. He pulled out and reached for his brother's hole with his tong. Licking, spitting, entering. He brought a finger, then two to the fight, tried to be gentle but with the rush of his needs pressing in his belly, he climbed on top of Dean, who grabbed his waist, needily inviting him to claim what he was offering.

"Dean…"

"Go ahead, Sammy… I need it as much as you do". Sam entered his brother carefully, but once inside, he could not hold and started thrusting more and more aggressively. Dean was still holding him tightly which gave him confidence he was ok. The pain was there and raw. Dean could not help but thinking of his brother during their first time and how it must have hurt. But he also realized he enjoyed the pain, it made him even more excited. It made him feel alive. How fucked up was that?

The boys were panting, both moving back and forth to try and catch up with their needs of a sweet release. Sam came first, inside his brother. He removed himself and grabbed his brother's shaft, thrusted furiously, a few seconds only, and Dean's release came finally.

Sam pulled up to lie on top of his brother, feeling the wetness of the come that had landed on Dean's chest. Dean placed his arms around his shoulder lovingly, and sighed deeply, his chin resting on Sam's head.

"I love you," whispered Sam.

"Love you too, Sammy".

„She's my sister" said Richie, eyes going from Dean to the tall blond in short pink vinyl dress. Dean said ok with such a surprised expression on his face that Richie looked at him twice, a little taken aback. The conversation cut short and Dean simply shut the door.

7

"Holy fuck!?" Dean was standing by the closed door, his fist blocking the peephole. He turned around slowly observing every inch of a room he surprisingly already knew. He stopped his visual tour on the red shredded velvet cover on the furthest bed… Sam's bed. He surprised himself looking for traces – there were none. Unable to comprehend what was going on, he tried to retrace everything that happened in the last 3 days. Making a mental schedule of the events: Sam confessing his love, him fighting his feelings then giving in, both of them accepting their fate. It was utterly messed-up. It was… It was not possible!

Dean, still standing by the door seemed to have sunk in a deep meditation state, his eyes moving as if trying to calculate some third-degree equation. Sam called him, once, twice, thrice.

The sound came from afar, "Dean," muffled. "Dean," clearer. The third call brought him back to reality. Sam was standing next to him, looking at him but carefully avoiding his eyes. His little brother's whole body language made Dean instantly understand that whatever it was, it was not a dream. He was somewhat bent, and shaking, his eyes were glassy.

"What the fuck Sam!", he said, still secretly hoping his brother would not know what he was speaking about. "I… I know… I… are you…? I mean…all that happened…"

His brother speechless and in search of an explanation was a first for Dean. He looked at him stunned and finally managed to exert a disgusted "Yeah", accompanied with a surreptitious gesture of the hand, his fingers pointing back and forth at his brother and himself.

The gesture gave Sam the assurance to speak his mind. He asked Dean if he remembered leaving this town to go and work a ghost story in Belmont. Giving as many details as possible on the hunt, the city; but always and very carefully only hints about the rest.

Dean's sick expression confirmed they had lived the same nightmare.

"What the fucking hell, Sammy?!", Dean could not shake off his painful mow.

Sam did what he knew best: try to lose himself in research, "I don't know Dean," opening his laptop swiftly, "I'll check if there is some sort of…" He stopped; he did not know what the hell could do that. Although he had stopped speaking, his fingers kept frantically tapping on the keyboard… Ghos… erase… Ghoo… erase… Demo…

"I mean, Sammy, what the hell was that shit?! What kind of fucking monster does that?" Dean was turning round going from the bed area to the bathroom door. Sam kept typing what now seemed to be random letters on his keyboard.

"Sick fucking joke!". Dean had not even closed his mouth that he stopped, standing still. For the first time trying to look in his brother's eyes. Sam was way ahead of him, already standing, looking at Dean straight in the eyes: "Richie!?"

Dean jumped toward the door and had it opened in a split second. Sam took the time to grab his bag on the floor before he followed Dean. The hunters finally saw Richie as they turned a corner in the dim-lit corridor.

"Richie," shouted Dean. Richie, standing straight in front of the elevator - his "sister" nowhere to be seen – lightly turned his head to the right and showed a faint sarcastic smile. The elevator opened, he got in confidently, turned around to face the brothers running at him and gestured a goodbye sign with his right hand. The doors started closing, Dean sprinted and managed to throw himself in between the doors to block them open. The security mechanism reacted fast and soon the doors were open again.

Dean grabbed Richie by the collar and pulled him out of the cabin. He pushed him forcefully against the wall opposite the elevator as Sam joined them. Richie did not even attempt to fake any kind of victim-like reaction.

"Aw, Deano, you seem upset!"

"You, sick fuck! We… How d'you call me?"

"What's happening chuckles? I called you Deano, why? You don't like it?"

Dean threw a punch right on Richie's nose. The nose somehow started waving, then the rest of the body until Richie completely disappeared, replaced by the trickster.

Sam got a wooden stick out of his bag and proceeded to hit the cheerful short man. The stake flew against the closed elevator doors, surprising the brothers.

"Come on Samantha, you can't even take a joke? What will it be when Deano here checks-out?"

"You're a sick bastard, you know that? What kind deranged game you're playing? We're brothers you, asshole!" Dean was fuming, pushing the man into the wall as if to imbed him in.

"Yeah Dean, you're brothers. And don't you think your interdependent broken relationship is a tiny bit over the top? Even for brothers?"

"I mean, Sam, losing a brother is hard, trust me, I know! But you're ready to turn the world upside down! And believe me you sweet, giant sasquatch, it cannot be healthy!"

"You too need to understand that you can live the one without the other. And the first step toward getting that into your beer-and-adrenalin-washed brains is for you to acknowledge the defective, destructive relationship you keep insisting on being in."

"So, you know… I thought I would help out with a savory scenario!" He smiled, proud.

"Since when?" suddenly asked Dean. His brother cringed, not sure he wanted to know.

"Since Sam confessed his loOoOve in the car" He burst in laughter. "I mean, common! The Celine Dion song on the radio, it didn't tilt your hunter's legendary guts, even a little?" He kept laughing.

"I'm gonna kill you!", Sam grunted through his grinding teeth.

"No, Sammy, you won't." He raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.

8

**"This is my sister, erm… Cheryl", said Richie, Looking at Dean. The tall blond in purple tank top and denim mini skirt, exiting the room, carelessly said "Hey" before grabbing the money Richie was holding up. Both Dean and Richie looked at her walk away.**

**"Well, you know… step-sister" said Richie.**

**Dean chuckled. "Come on in!".**


End file.
